


Stranger Paths Than This

by ashestodusters



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Historical References, Hurt Athos, Hurt/Comfort, Medic Aramis, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashestodusters/pseuds/ashestodusters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Thinking back d'Artagnan wondered why it had never occurred to him that the ruined portrait in Athos's manor might not be of his wife.' <br/>In the aftermath of Constance's rescue Athos struggles to cope with his vices and the strength of his companions trust in him, not knowing that another shadow of his past is about to rear its head. <br/>Shamlessly Athos centric, constructive criticism welcomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Un

**Author's Note:**

> Rating due to mentions of alcholism and violence and the inclusion of Aramis :P.   
> No slash or profanity.   
> I will try to be historically accurate where possible (I studied history at university) but no promises.   
> Enjoy!

It was strange, d'Artagnan realised, to see Athos without the locket around his neck. For so long had the metal imprisoned his colleague with the guilt of past mistakes that it had become part of his image. Yet now, watching him sparring with Aramis, leather jacket cast aside in favour of freer movement, d'Artagnan finally understood what had been nagging at his mind every time he laid his gaze on the elder musketeer.

There was no denying that Athos had changed since casting off the chain and the demons that came with it. For one, d'Artagnan had heard him laugh for the first time and he wasn't alone, so shocked had Porthos been that Athos had won a lot of money off him that night. For another his drinking had dropped considerably. Ever one for extreme action Athos had decided to stop drinking alcohol altogether following the rescue of Constance, to clear his system as well as his head. What followed had not been pretty, but Athos looked much better for it and it had brought them all closer.

Every now and then d'Artagnan would glimpse Athos's hand coming up to grasp the necklace, perhaps out of habit, only for the searching fingers to close on thin air. He would watch the confusion, realisation and sorrow pass through his expression as the Comte de la Fère reappeared for the briefest of moments, a flash of a past life now cast aside in favour of a better future.

"I yield." D'Artagnan glanced up to see Athos holding his sword to the defeated Aramis's throat, a grin lighting up his face, the thrill of a win making him appear ten years younger as he released his prisoner and drew Aramis up with a laugh.

"One day soon you might even disarm me."

"I thought that would only happen in my dreams?" Aramis replied cheekily clapping Athos on the shoulder, forgetting momentarily the still healing wound although Athos barely flinched. Full of apologies Aramis began to fuss over Athos like a mother hen, a display that Porthos, perched next to d'Artagnan helping himself to what he called 'snacks for the show' found greatly amusing.

Athos finally fought his way out from under Aramis's attention and joined them at the table, pinching some mixed nuts from Porthos's plate.

"Seriously though, are you sure you're alright?" Porthos asked, his grin fading as he glimpsed Athos's too-pale expression.

"I'm fine Porthos," a raised eyebrow, "well, almost, but if you really want to help you can go and give Aramis a sound thrashing for me to keep him off my back for ten seconds."

"It would be my pleasure," and there was the other change. Where Athos used to lean on drink and memories, he now leant on his brothers in arms. At first it had been tentative. Porthos and Aramis were a tight-knit unit that d'Artagnan had merged into, but Athos, as the unofficial leader, had always been a bit aloof.

It helped that they had seen Athos at his worst and held him in no less regard. The nights during which Athos had suffered through withdrawal had been awful. Haunted by nightmares and afflicted by fever they had helped him through, listening when needed, comforting when the tears wouldn't stop flowing.

How much, d'Artagnan had thought, has Athos gone through in his short life to deserve this? During the worst nightmares Aramis had resorted to sleeping next to Athos, protectively holding the older man in his arms as though his presence could frighten away the ghosts of Milady de Winter and his brother and indeed Athos slept better with one of them beside him.

D'Artagnan was ashamed to admit he hadn't realised the depths of the man's loneliness, but with his defences gone Athos, shyly at first as though scared of rejection, then with growing confidence and need, reached out for their presence like a man drowning.

Whilst Aramis was the champion comforter, Porthos, it had turned out, was an amazing cook. When Athos couldn't keep anything else down Porthos had turned chef and come up with some creations that were both soothing and filling. D'Artagnan on the other hand, was the one Athos confided in, much to his own surprise, being the youngest and least world-weary of the group. He had been taking his night shift, sat beside Athos who had subconsciously turned towards him in sleep, back against the headboard and book in hand when Athos had first spoken to him in search of answers.

"D'Artagnan?"

"Yes?" d'Artagnan laid the book aside, one hand coming to rest gently on Athos's arm, ready to move at a moment's notice should nausea overcome his companion.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" the question came after a long embarassed pause, quiet and uncertain.

"Far from it, you're the best man I know," d'Artagnan paused, throwing wry smile at his elder, "present company excluded of course."

Athos chuckled wearily at the joke but his face turned serious again, unguarded as he was, d'Artagnan could see for the first time the extent of Athos's self-recrimination and doubt and all thoughts of jest fled from him.

"I mean it Athos," d'Artagnan declared, gripping his hands for emphasis, "you protect headstrong young Gascons who turn up and try to kill you, and see the potential for good in everyone, even beggars in the Court of Miracles. I couldn't ask for a better or more loyal companion and absolutely nothing you are about to say will convince me otherwise. You've suffered enough Athos, I think it's time you let it all out and accept the help of the men who think of you as your brothers," a pointed look at the snoozing Porthos and Aramis, "and this man who loves you as a son would his father."

Athos's eyes were welling up by the end of the speech and over the course of the night haltingly told d'Artagnan everything about the events surrounding his wife and brother. By dawn the man, all tears spent, had fallen into an exhausted sleep but the weight that had burdened his shoulders was that little bit lighter.

When Athos had finally awoken with clear eyes and steady hands he had thrown himself back into Musketeering work as quickly as he could, although thankfully nowhere near as recklessly as he had done in the past.

He did, however, try to withdraw back into his shell. Happily, Porthos and Aramis agreed with d'Artagnan that they wouldn't ever let Athos feel unloved again, so they dragged him metaphorically kicking and screaming into social activities and cosy evenings in until they were sure Athos was acutely aware of his own worth.

Yet despite all this, some long lost fear still seemed to cling to Athos like a shroud that descended on his bad nights. It was these nights that Athos seemed to withdraw into himself, a depression fell over him face and manner and often he would be drawn to the bottle, although never as much as before, because now he was also drawn to them, to their embraces and distractions.

Every man, d'Artagnan supposed, had secrets and he was content to let it lie. Unfortunately Athos's past wasn't done with him and the musketeers found out what was preying on his mind far earlier than they would have done if it had not been for the arrival of a letter from Planchet, the man Athos had left in charge of his estates. It had taken three words for Athos's world to fall down.Wome

Marie is alive.

Thinking back after the chaos those words had brought into their lives d'Artagnan wondered why it had never occurred to him that the ruined portrait in Athos's grand and abandoned manor might not be of his wife.


	2. Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Athos stops drinking before he gets too far, if anyone you know is ever unresponsive or unconscious because of alcohol consumption, call an ambulance straight away, they probably have alcohol poisoning.   
> As the boys in seventeeth century France don't have an ambulance service, or correct medical understanding, they can't do this.

Marie is alive.

Bottles clinked together upon the table top, one lay on its side popping up the long abandoned glass.

Marie is alive.

Candlelight reflected dimly across the dark red liquid sloshing in the bottom of the current bottle, held limply by a man who was slouched in the shadowy corner.

Marie is alive.

And yet still Athos could not forget.

When the letter had arrived he had been expecting nothing more than an update on the repairs to the château. Having moved on from the shadow of his wife Athos had turned his mind to the long-overdue task of sorting out his estates and repairing and redecorating the grand house that dominated the lands, nearly destroyed by the fire.

It was also another way to signify a fresh start, although he doubted he would live in the house very often. So instead he had, with considerable difficultly, contacting Ninon de Larroque and offered her the opportunity to use at least part of the building as a school. Her reaction to his reveal as the Comte de la Fère had been amusing if nothing else and her presence made the visits to the château a little less daunting.

But the letter had contained nothing about his estates, instead Planchet had hurriedly scribbled a note claiming that Marie was alive and sent it with all haste to Paris, catching Athos unawares.

At first he had felt numb, perhaps with shock, he vaguely recalled the letter slipping from his fingers and the shouts of his brothers and arms as his body and mind unanimously agreed to replicate the action so ingrained into him when faced with a difficult personal situation.

Without thought he had bolted from the garrison, taken refuge in a nearby tavern and proceeded to heroically attempt to empty its wine cellar.

Only now was he beginning to regret such a strong reaction. The wine had dulled his senses but not his memory and he knew that he had caused Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan undue concern. He had hoped, with the growth of the friendship between them, that he would instinctually seek their comfort rather than the bottle; especially considering his vow never to drink this much again. He doubted he would be able to get back to the garrison without being attacked or passing out, never mind the hangover he would have the following morning. All he could do was hope that his friends were stubborn enough to look for him.

Marie is alive.

Perhaps in the morning, when he had a clear head, he might be able to work out what to do about Planchet's declaration. If it was true, he had to find her. It had been twenty years since that awful day and if there was even the slightest chance that some of his Marie was still there…

If it turned out to be misinformation there was no point giving himself false hope.

*

"Who on earth is Marie?" Porthos asked in bewilderment as he scanned the short note, picked up from the ground where it had fallen from Athos's nerveless grip before the man had done a runner, oblivious to their shouts.

"And more importantly," d'Artagnan added glancing toward to garrison gates, "what did she do to Athos?"

"As much as I'd like to find Athos, I get a feeling this is quite a delicate situation; we need to know what caused Athos to revert to his pre-Milady instincts." Aramis stated.

"That could take a while." Porthos commented, carefully folding up the paper and sliding it into his pocket.

"On the other hand I think I know just who we should ask." d'Artagnan followed Aramis's gaze to Treville's office.

"You think he'll know?"

"If anyone knows anything about Athos's past it's him." Porthos affirmed, folding the letter back up, "rumour has it he knew Athos's parents before they died."

The thundering sound of three musketeers in a hurry running up the stairs to his office may well have done nothing for his headache, but listening to their explanation of Athos's reaction and the contents of the letter made Treville think he would probably need a stiff drink sooner than he had thought.

"It definitely says Marie?" Porthos nodded in confirmation, handing the note over for inspection. Scanning it, Treville seemed to sag a bit, his gaze turning to the ceiling.

"If only the fates would leave Athos alone."

"Sir?" Aramis pushed, his body buzzing with urgency, they needed to find Athos, and fast but without the information to handle the likely volatile man correctly, they could cause more harm than good. Treville sighed and leant heavily against his desk, directing his gaze straight at them, urgency also brimming from his posture.

"You need to find Athos, and quickly, before he does anything stupid."

"Who is Marie? I don't want to cause Athos more harm with a careless comment." Aramis pressed again, impatience beginning to show. Sensing that they wouldn't leave to find their missing comrade until their curiosity was satisfied Treville lowered his voice.

"Marie d'Athos de la Fère was Athos's older sister." the group tensed in surprise but even in his confusion d'Artagnan couldn't help but absentmindedly noted the use of the past tense.

"Was, sir?"

"Yes," Treville sighed again, leaning back fully against his desk, arms crossed, "I don't know the entire story, by that point I was already in Paris. From what I remember Marie was a bright young lady, destined for great things."

"What happened to her?" d'Artagnan asked gently. Treville took a steadying breath.

"Twenty years ago nearly to the day Marie was accused of murder, wrongly as it turned out, and dragged off to be executed. Her parents were ashamed; they tore her portrait in anger and forbade Athos and Thomas to visit her in prison. The irony of it is that two weeks after the sentence was passed they found the evidence proving her innocence, but by then it was too late. Her parents had already caused enough damage and all they could do was give her a belated funeral."

"Then how could she possibly be alive?" Porthos asked, frowning.

"I don't know, but her coffin was buried a week before her innocence was declared, I suppose there was no way of knowing if she was in it. There was also a break-out the day before her execution, a man accused of piracy, but the chances are minute. Even if she did get out she would have been a fugitive."

"Twenty years." Aramis mumbled.

"Athos was only ten at the time and he had always adored Marie."

"Ten?" d'Artagnan repeated faintly, so much sorrow at so young an age. Treville straightened suddenly.

"You need to find Athos. If she's alive Athos will do anything to find her, legal or no and I can't protect him if he goes too far. If she's not," Treville paused, his head bowing in grief, "I hate to think what this false hope will do to him."

"Where do you think he's gone?" d'Artagnan asked, having known Athos for the shortest period of time and therefore didn't know his character as well.

"If he's sensible he'll be in a tavern." Porthos decided and Aramis agreed.

"Sensible?" d'Artagnan spluttered.

"It's embedded into Athos's instincts to run from his problems to the bottle. We can't change his instincts lad, we can only provide distractions." Aramis explained as he led them out of the office, heading single-mindedly in the direction of the gates.

"And if he's not there?" d'Artagnan asked. Aramis paused, turning slightly towards him.

"Then we pray to God that we find him before he does something really stupid and gets himself killed for it." At that, Aramis resumed his stride towards the nearest taverns flanked by a determined Porthos and an anxious d'Artagnan.


	3. Trois

They must have been quite a sight, three fully armed musketeers, one with an intimidating height and bulk, all desperately searching the taverns for their lost companion. Many a proprietor had looked ready to kick them out if it weren't for the gleaming blades and polished musket barrels.

In the end it was Porthos that spotted him. Slumped in the corner of one of the less pleasant establishments that had scoured, surrounding by at least three empty wine bottles was Athos.

A quick check by Aramis confirmed that Athos was alive and vaguely coherent. In fact, he looked downright relieved to see the three of them.

"Knew you'd come." Athos mumbled as Porthos helped d'Artagnan haul the elder man to his feet.

"Of course we came." Aramis replied softly, checking his heartbeat with one hand whilst picking up his discarded hat with the other.

"'M fine." Athos complained, batting away Aramis's hovering hands, swaying slight in their grip. It was bad, d'Artagnan had no doubt about that, but Athos was surprisingly alert and a quick examination of the table suggested that Athos had actually deliberately stopped drinking. Usually when he reached this state he aimed for unconsciousness, he had the money for more wine on him, but he hadn't bought extra.

"You are far from fine Athos." Aramis scolded, plonking the drunk mans' hat on his head and they made their way to the door, much to the relief of the owner of the tavern, Porthos and d'Artagnan supporting Athos between them.

"Better than I used to be. Made myself stop, knew you'd come looking." Athos's confession further confirmed d'Artagnan's suspicions. Aramis actually stopped to stare at Athos, Porthos slowly cracked a smile. It seemed that there efforts to convince Athos of his self-worth and of their love for him were working.

When they eventually tipped Athos onto his bed at the garrison it was gone midnight. It was hard to believe that six hours before they had planned to spend a night in playing cards.

As d'Artagnan turned to fetch water, knowing from experience that they had to keep Athos hydrated through the night, the man's hand snagged his sleeve and slightly glazed eyes fixed on him.

"'M sorry 'tagnan." d'Artagnan smiled softly and took the hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Don't be, I'm proud of you," and indeed d'Artagnan was, to resist his vice and wait for his friend's help showed Athos's strength and how far he had come.

They took shifts, periodically waking their patient, making him drink the water d'Artagnan had found, the cleanest he could procure, settling into the easy companionship they always had when looking after one of their own. They could at least make Athos comfortable and able to deal with the headache he would have.

It was just as the sun's rays began to shine through the shutters that the knock at the door came. Staggering upright d'Artagnan clambered over the sleeping forms of his friends to pull the latch and open the door.

On the other side stood Claude, one of the new recruits, looking as though he would rather be elsewhere.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked quietly, trying not to wake the others.

"There's a woman at the gate," Claude mumbled, "unsavoury looking type. She says she's looking for some de la Fère." d'Artagnan froze, glanced back into the room at the sleeping Athos and hurriedly made a decision.

"Fetch the captain and tell him what's happened. I'll stall the woman until then." Claude nodded in relief and hurried off.

D'Artagnan approached the gate carefully one hand braced on the pistol just in case Milady had decided to torment Athos once more. But the woman leant against the wall was not Milady, although she certainly lived up the description of unsavoury.

Her clothes were a mix-match of rags, fitting badly and d'Artagnan glimpsed sailor's boots and breeches under her slightly-too short skirts when she moved to face him, brining with her the faint scent of salt-water, suggesting time spent at sea. Most shockingly, she was opening wearing a sword, the blade fine like Athos's, and a pistol and both had clearly seen use. D'Artagnan subconsciously tightened his own grip on his weapon as he moved closer.

Her dark hair was a tangle, pulled back out of her face in a haphazard manner, concealed in part by her hat which was much like Aramis's in style. A closer look convinced d'Artagnan that her skin was tanned.

It was when he met her gaze that it clicked. He almost did a double-take. He was without a doubt looking into a mirror image of Athos's eyes.

"What is your business here?" he demanded, regaining his wits, hearing Treville come up behind him with Porthos and Aramis who had, despite his efforts, been woken by the commotion.

"I'm looking for Olivier d'Athos de la Fère."

"His name's Olivier?" He heard Porthos hiss behind him, too quietly for her to hear. D'Artagnan picked up on another oddity, she had no clear accent, but her voice was cultured a clear sign of noble upbringing.

"Marie, I presume?" Treville questioned from beside him, drawing the same conclusion as d'Artagnan had, needing over a glance at her face to notice the resemblance. The woman sighed in defeat.

"Clearly I did not travel as unnoticed as I had hoped." Finally her hands dropped away from her sword hilt, one coming up to remove her hat as she gave them a mock bow, "Marie d'Athos de la Fère at your service gentleman." As she rose up her hand once again came to rest against her sword handle. Treville gave her a once-over before turning towards his office.

"You had better come with us." Marie hesitated, but a quick gesture from d'Artagnan's pistol convinced her otherwise. All the way to the office Marie was clearly on edge, d'Artagnan dropped back to Aramis.

"Where's Athos?"

"Awake," Aramis replied quietly not wanting to alert their visitor, "he's in Treville's office."

"Is that a good idea?" d'Artagnan asked, concerned.

"Let's hope so." The door to Treville's office loomed in front of them and with a quick glance behind him at them Treville pushed the door open.

Athos was stood inside, clearly unarmed, his back to them. They hadn't expected Marie to attack. Facing away from as he was them it was not a surprise Marie hadn't immediately recognised her brother and seeing an unarmed opponent she took the opportunity. Within seconds she had grabbed the back of Athos's collar, spun him around so his back was to her and he faced the doorway where his surprised friends stood and placed a wicked looking blade against his throat.

Immediately they all had their pistols trained on her, but it wouldn't be easy to fire without risking hitting Athos.

"Now," Marie hissed, tightening her grip, causing Athos to suck in a sharp breath as the blade brushed a little too close for comfort, "I shall ask nicely. Where can I find Olivier d'Athos de la Fere?"

Athos's eyes widened the moment he heard her voice. Even without meeting her eyes he knew that the woman holding him hostage was the last person he had expected and the one person in the world he wanted to see. Her lack of recognition worried him, as did her tone of voice, but if there was any of his sister left then he had to try, before his position got any worse.

Treville opened his mouth to inform her of the truth of the situation but Athos beat him to it.

"I'll yield, but only if you yield tonight's pudding." Ignoring the confused glances his friends were giving him he was rewarded by the slackening of her grip in surprise.

"It can't be."

"Does that mean pudding's mine?" Athos was abruptly released, the blade clattering to the floor as Marie backed up in shock, her hands coming to her mouth in horror as she realised who she had been inches away from killing.

"Olivier?" her voice was timid, the battle-hardened woman of a minute ago fled. Slowly Athos turned to face her.

"It's me Marie, I'm here." Finally taking in his face, Marie let loose a sob and flung herself at the musketeer.

Four guns immediately rose again, but they weren't needed. Marie and Athos were embracing, clinging to each other as though they were the only people left in the world. Athos's hand cradled his sister's head, his lips dropped a gentle kiss onto her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder, her arms wrapped as tight as a vice around his waist.

"I'm here Marie, and I'm never going to abandon you again, I swear."


	4. Quatre

Once the three musketeers realised that the pair were unlikely to kill each other, they slowly lowered their pistols, although they supposed Athos deserved the slap.

"Don't you ever say that again, you have never abandoned me, never, I abandoned you!" hushing his sister Athos pulled her back into his embrace.

"Neither of us was to blame Marie, we were only children."

It also quickly became clear that the siblings were in no hurry to part and it left them as increasingly uncomfortable onlookers, d'Artagnan took a sudden interest in the ceiling of the office as Aramis stuck his head out the window with Treville to watch the men training below. The silence was broken as d'Artagnan heard a sniff beside him; he turned and was surprised to see Porthos staring at the pair with tears in his eyes.

"Porthos?" At d'Artagnan's question Aramis turned as well, a knowing smile gracing his face.

"You're making a habit of this."

"Well, it's touching, you know." Porthos defended, gesturing towards the pair still locked in an embrace. Aramis laid a supportive hand on Porthos's shoulder but quickly dropped it and hurried forward when Athos paused swayed and made a small exclamation of surprise as not seconds later his legs buckled.

Caught off guard, Marie was not quick enough to catch him, but by then he was safely in the arms of his fellow musketeers. Aramis was back in doctoring mode faster than Athos could blink.

"Steady Athos, I told you this would be a bad idea." d'Artagnan, in a surge of inspiration, ran to fetch the chair from behind Treville's desk and offered it to the huddle.

Nodding in appreciation Treville helped Aramis lower Athos onto the chair. Now that the shock of seeing his long-lost sister alive was wearing off it was clear to see the exhaustion and pain in Athos's eyes.

"Brother?" Marie's worried tone broke through the natural barrier they had formed out of habit to protect an injured colleague from prying eyes.

"I'm alright Marie," Athos placated her as calmly as he could with Aramis poking at his injured shoulder his instinctive struggles when the knife had been pressed to his throat having irritated the wound, "just a little tired." Marie did not look convinced.

"Tired and hung-over no doubt," Aramis corrected, "how's the headache?" Athos flinched as Aramis's examination got a little too enthusiastic.

"Bearable." he grunted in response, his eyes meeting Marie's over Aramis's head.

"Any nausea?"

"None."

"Dizziness?" It seemed Athos had finally reached the end of his tether.

"I'm fine Aramis, it's nothing a good meal and sleep won't fix." Finally Athos managed to brush Aramis aside but he made no move to stand which was just as strong a reflection of how bad he felt and made d'Artagnan nervous. Athos was in no state to deal with such emotional upheaval and they had had no time to prepare him for the shock.

Marie, who had up until then hovered at the back pushed forwards until she was knelt in front of her brother and gently pushed loose strands of hair out of his face. In turn, Athos captured her hands and turned them over to examine the battle-hardened digits. What had led his sister down a path where she was as comfortable with a weapon as he was?

Sensing his scrutiny Marie pulled her hands away, she was in no hurry to tell Athos what she had been doing, he would not want her it he knew what she had been involved in. In anger and desperation she fell back on her default defence, re-direction. It had not missed her attention that Athos's hung-over state seemed nothing new to his friends; the Olivier she had known had not seemed the type to grow to drink excessively, or to thoughtlessly throw his life away, if the attitudes of his friends towards what was undoubtable a reckless wound was any indication.

"It seems we have both changed," her voice was accusing and Athos did not miss her meaning if his wince was anything to go by. Capturing her hands once again as she moved to stand he levelled his gaze at her.

"We have Marie. Do you think I do not recognise hands that grip a sword? Or rope burns?" Marie flushed, turning her face away, but Athos was unrelenting, "Look at me sister and see that we are both scarred and we have both suffered. I do not judge you."

Marie laughed a humourless laugh and this time when she pulled out of his grip and backed away Athos let her go.

"A drunk with a death wish and a fugitive, look at the pair of us, I hope at least Thomas has done better." Marie of course, couldn't have known what affect her careless words would have. The room froze around her at the mention of Athos's deceased younger brother and all eyes turned to Athos himself, who had also gone still with grief. Marie frowned at the change in atmosphere.

"What did I say?"

"Thomas is dead Marie." Athos managed to choke out, his sorrow evident. Marie, seeing the truth in his eyes, sagged boneless against the nearest wall.

"Dead?" The whispered question pleaded for someone to deny it. Marie's face was a picture of shock and grief, to find one brother and lose another in the space of an hour was a truly devastating experience.

"Yes," Athos confirmed having regained himself, "you have missed much in your time away. It seems we both have much to tell each other." Across the room Marie tensed again, eyes widening at his words. Athos easily recognised the fight or flight pose, it was one he had himself adopted many a time, obviously Marie would rather her story was left unsaid and for now Athos was content to let it lie.

He had his sister back, which was enough for him. It mattered not what she had done to stay alive, all that mattered was that she was here, in one piece and there was enough of the sister that he remembered left within her that he might yet be able to coax her out.

Acting quickly, and with a voice approaching one he would use to calm a frightened horse Athos worked to prevent his sister running, because in his present state he knew there would be little he could do to stop her.

"None of that matters now though, we need to work out what to do now that you're here. As far as the French judicial system is concerned you are dead and for now you need to remain so if you want to stay alive." Hesitantly Marie lowered her guard.

"What do you suggest then brother?" Athos paused thoughtfully.

"You cannot stay in Paris, you stand out too easily." There were nods of agreement from the other musketeers present.

"What about your château?" Porthos suggested, "It's out of the way and you'd only need to convince Planchet to keep silent."

"We'd have to get there unnoticed, la Fère is a couple of days ride away." Aramis noted.

"I can cover your absence for a while at least." Treville added.

"Constance could provide some more suitable clothing," d'Artagnan suggested thoughtfully even as Marie started in indignation, "we could pass Marie off as a noblewoman returning to the country."

"Marie," the woman in question spoke up suddenly and with an authority that surprised them all, "can speak for herself." The men paused, not sure how to react.

"Of course you can," Athos finally spoke up, "but you have to trust us in this."

"Trust," Marie snorted, turning away, "I've learned that trust is a fairy-tale." The musketeers again were wrong-footed. The mystery of Marie's life for the past twenty years hung over them as a shadow, a bomb ready to explode at one wrong turn.

Athos, testing his strength, stood and quickly brushed a protesting Aramis away who was then held back by Porthos. Athos moved towards his sister slowly, one hand coming to grasp her arm and turned her towards him.

"All I ask is that you trust me and you once did." The room held its breath; the tension was nearly unbearable as the siblings stared into each other's eyes. Finally Marie nodded and Porthos released Aramis with a sign of relief. Athos immediately found himself being pushed back into a chair and was handed a drink of water which he cradled in slightly shaking hands and sipped slowly.

"I agree that I cannot stay in Paris, I have attracted too much unwanted attention already. I'll do whatever you ask until we are safely in le Fère, after that I make no promises." Marie finally said.

"Thank you." Athos spoke before turning to d'Artagnan, "Go and find Constance, we must leave as soon as possible."

"What about when we get to the château?" Aramis asked as they watched Marie reluctantly giving her weapons to Treville and Porthos.

"I have no idea." Athos replied honestly, "But the estates are rightfully hers, I have no interest in them. I think the only way out of this mess is for Marie to assume my title and become Comtess de la Fère and somehow gain the King's favour, it is the only way to guarantee her protection."

"And the missing twenty years?" Aramis questioned as d'Artagnan came running back into the garrison, Constance in tow.

"We can only hope that whatever Marie has done will not haunt her the way my mistakes have done."

"And if Marie resists? Or her crimes come back to haunt her?" Aramis pushed, recognising that Athos too had seen the resolve to kill in his sister's eyes and the evidence of enough crimes to demand the death sentence in her dress and posture.

Athos sighed, leaning his forehead against the window and closing his eyes.

"Let us hope it does not come to that. I have already lost Marie once, I have no intention of doing so again."


End file.
